Today's Document
AnasAbdin
Claire Keane
trying on a metaphor
Peter Solarz
hello vonnie

No title available

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
No title available

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
almost home
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

No title available
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
No title available

izzy's playlists!

shark vs the universe
will byers stan first human second
Sweet Seals For You, Always
styofa doing anything

seen from Malaysia

seen from Netherlands
seen from Japan
seen from United States

seen from Austria
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Germany

seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@seccion8mami
okay but why is he even called mr beast
He's the Antichrist
i love deleting things
me when i leave cvs
Marc Jacobs Documentary by Loïc Prigent
ⓘ Tip: while sewing, you can unlock scary sewing by losing your needle somewhere on your bed.
You can love someone deeply and still not be meant to build a life with them.
can i lie in your arms and cry for a few hours?
born to be an abstract concept, forced to be a percievable entity
that’s a fool’s errand. a jester’s chore, if you will. a real clown’s appointment
do you ever just not feel like a real person
When the male lead and female lead make it to the end of the story without kissing
I am shocked at how many people don't have an actively hostile relationship with advertising
I don’t know how to fill the waking hours.
They arrive without instruction.
Morning asks for movement,
for purpose,
but all I have is breath
and the careful work of not breaking.
So I gather myself slowly—
a cup of water,
a song to listen,
a room left quiet,
the light learning how to enter.
Time brings no comfort.
It only watches.
It keeps moving even when I don’t,
even when I am busy stitching myself together
with habits that look like strength.
Some hours I wait for nothing,
just the feeling that I am still here,
still intact enough
to be seen without explanation.
I spend the day holding everything in place,
balancing loss with routine,
calling survival a shape I can live inside.
And when night finally softens the edges,
I let go of the performance.
I am not okay—
but I am still holding,
and for now,
that has to be enough.
It has to be.
I am always painfully waiting for something unexplainable to happen, something magical, something unlikely, a miracle of some sort, to save me from everthing, to save me from everyone, to save me from myself.